When My Mate Murdered Our Unborn Pup

Five years. It had been five years since Alpha Gunner Mitchell claimed me, the broken, wolfless girl from the Silver Moon Pack, as his mate. Five years of sleeping beside him, breathing in his scent of pine and rain, and five years of ignoring the whispers that followed me like a shadow.

“The Black Widow,” they called me. The cursed girl. The one whose lack of a wolf brought death to her parents and would surely bring ruin to the Blood River Pack.

Tonight, however, the whispers were drowned out by the swell of violins. The Grand Hall was draped in crimson and gold to celebrate the fifth anniversary of Gunner’s Alpha ceremony. I stood by his side, my hand trembling slightly in the crook of his arm. I wore a gown of midnight blue, chosen by Gunner to match the night sky, but I felt like an imposter wrapped in silk.

“Chin up, Camila,” Gunner murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated against my ribs. He leaned down, brushing his lips against my temple. “You are their Luna. Let them see you.”

I looked up at him. His jaw was set, his blue eyes storming with a fierce protectiveness that made my heart ache. He knew. He always knew how the Council looked at me.

Across the room, Head Elder Marcus Reynolds raised a glass in a toast that felt more like a threat. His eyes lingered on my neck, bare of the Luna mark Gunner had placed there years ago—a mark that couldn't fully form because my wolf was dormant. A murmur rippled through the gathered crowd, a wave of sneers and averted gazes.

Gunner stiffened. The air in the room suddenly grew heavy, charged with the static of his Alpha aura. The music faltered.

“My mate,” Gunner’s voice boomed, not a shout, but a command that silenced the room instantly. He pulled me flush against his chest, his hand splayed possessively over my lower back. “Is the heart of this pack. Disrespect her, and you challenge your Alpha.”

He released a pulse of pure dominance. It hit the room like a physical blow. Around us, knees buckled. Warriors, Deltas, even the arrogant Elder Marcus, were forced to bow their heads, their necks bared in submission. It was a terrifying display of power, a shield forged from his own authority to protect me.

“I love you,” I whispered, burying my face in his chest to hide the tears burning my eyes.

“Always,” he breathed back.

But the moment of triumph was shattered by the frantic arrival of Gamma Silas. He burst through the double doors, his face pale and slick with sweat. He didn't bow; he rushed straight to Gunner, whispering urgently into his ear.

I felt the change instantly through our bond. Gunner’s calm dominance fractured, replaced by a spike of cold, sharp dread. He pulled away from me, his warmth vanishing.

“Stay here, Cam,” he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Entertain the